


Ambassador of Love

by Lady Mythos (CelestialStars)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Continuity What Continuity, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Cultural Differences, Culture Shock, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Humor, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Requited Unrequited Love, Silly, Slow Burn, Soulmates, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-05-27 01:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15013589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialStars/pseuds/Lady%20Mythos
Summary: "When the traitrous Fallen waged war with the Primes, gentle Solus Prime could not withstand the feud between her brothers. So she fled across the Rust Sea with a handful of refugees and founded the city of Polyhex, a haven where the people could live in peace. And so we have remained for eons, waiting for the day Cybertron becomes safe for us to return to. But now, we shall take action in securing the future of Polyhex."Though Solus Prime resides now with Primus, one brave soul shall cross the Rust Sea and change the face of Polyhex as she one did. May the Creator Prime protect you Jazz as you seek to protect us all. May your pedes be swift yet sturdy, your glossa kind yet sharp, your processor clever yet earnest, and your spark good through every trial. Farewell and good luck."~Lady Entropy, Chairfemme of the Polyhexian High Council, Head of the House of Instruments





	1. A Warm Praxian Welcome

**Author's Note:**

> I blame the Discord server for all of this..... Anyways, welcome to this strange fic and I hope you all enjoy it! I couldn't have done it without my lovely two betas Searce and ProwlingJazz. Thank you both so much for your support (and enablement). 
> 
> Quick note, the geography and history of Cybertron has been thoroughly bent to my will, so don't expect much faithfulness to canon here. Also, this story will eventually turn explicit but I will mark the sex scenes/chapters if you wish to avoid that sort of thing.
> 
> On with the fic!

Jazz stood on the crest of the Alchemic Mountains, awed at the city of Praxus sprawled beneath him. Its tall greyscale buildings caught the dying sunlight, steels and platinums and marbles and obsidians all glowing as if phosphorescent. Ruddy rays reflected from embedded crystal chips with a thousand tiny twinkles. Even as the natural light died, tiny bits of artificial light were methodically switched on street by street until the whole place seemed just as bright before the sun sank below the horizon. Praxus was indeed the City of Lights. But there was something else. He couldn't put his digit on it but he could swear that he could hear the faint hum of living crystals resonating with the air itself. Jazz's spark leapt within him. He may be fiercely loyal to Polyhex but Praxus was giving her a run for her money. In any case, it was the prettiest city he had run across in his travels—

 

**WARNING: FUEL TANK IS BELOW 20% CAPACITY.**

 

Jazz shook his head, deleting the warning from his visor’s H.U.D. Trust his tanks to ruin a lovely view.

 

Setting his pack on a patch of cloudy prasiolite, Jazz sat on the bismuth ground with a sleepy groan. The Alchemic Mountains were the toughest obstacle to a city he had had to face yet. Kaon had bandits and Tarn had massive smelting pits to skirt. But climbing these rocky, steep peaks? He'd rather deal with the gladiator who almost tried to eat him in Kaon again! Jazz just sighed, propping himself up against the shimmering boulder beside him. When he'd taken this scouting mission from the Polyhexian Council, he didn't think it'd be  _ this _ hard.

 

"Go b’yond de sea, dey said. Make sure de other cities’re good for 'hexians, dey said. Hmph," he grumbled, fiddling through his subspace to find his journaling datapad. "Tol' meh nuthin' 'bout climbin' giant mountains or fightin' gladiators."

 

But Jazz could feel the smile creeping over his lips. The Council was wise enough to appoint him as first contact to Cybertron. Ricochet always told him that he was a Polyhexian among Polyhexians, with the wanderlust to prove it. Even with all of the potential dangers, he loved the crazy, wonderful challenge of it all. To go up against things his people had never seen before and face them with both grin and fist filled his tubes with overwhelming energy and pride. He finally withdrew the datapad, along with a few strips of jellied oilfish energon, and began to type.

 

_ ~Vorn 2, Cycle 53: _

 

_ Ah've finally broken through to de top o' de crest. Still ain't no wildlife on de mountain which's really fraggin’ weird, if yah ask meh. Also haven't met any bots 'long de ridges which's even weirder. When Ah first got to Kaon, dere were a coupla' mechs dat walked by meh. But dis is empty. Maybe Ah'll find bots in de city. _

 

_ ~Jazz, First Contact of Polyhex~ _

 

Jazz powered down the datapad and put it back into his subspace. He wasn't quite nodding off yet, but any longer and he would be in complete recharge. It was time to set up camp. Gnawing on another chunk of energon, he pulled a sleeping pad from his pack and spread it over the smoothest patch of ground he could find. Tomorrow would be another long cycle if he couldn't find a road to help him descend down the mountains. Even if the sun had barely sunk below the surface, it was important that he got all the recharge he could. And besides, it had been three cycles since he had slept on a level surface. 

 

Fishing out an old turbowolf hide, Jazz wrapped himself in the fluffy side before stuffing his pack under his helm. He could feel his entire frame unwind. Above him, the shy stars began to peep through the darkness, slowly revealing constellations unseen in Polyhex's night skies. Even if all of Cybertron was completely hostile to Polys and he had to return home empty-handed, Jazz knew he would never forget the glorious nights underneath the open sky. He lay awake as long as he could but soon slipped away into peaceful recharge.

  
  


"Thank Primus," Jazz muttered to himself as he sped down the makeshift crystal chip road. It had taken him  _ hours _ of tentatively scaling down some terrifying cliff faces before he had stumbled across the rough road. While it wasn't guaranteed that the road would lead to Praxus, anything was better than trying to navigate these treacherous mountain, even if he could feel bits of crystal chewing through his tires.

 

The terrain changed the farther Jazz drove. The stubbly patches of crystals began to grow bigger and bigger, turning from clear to milky white to brighter and bolder colors. Some even gleamed appetizing purples and blues that were in rare supply back in Polyhex. He hoped that he would get the chance to smuggle a few chips back home to improve production—

 

A herd of silverback deer flitted across the road, scaring the oil out of Jazz. He swerved to a panicked stop and, blessed be Primus, missed the last one as they flocked to a lurid green octagonal crystal to graze. If he had servos, they'd be clutched at his chestplates! It had been a long time since he'd been scared like that! It seemed that the unnaturally dead mountain tops was not true of the lower levels. Even from where he had paused to ease his sparkpulse, he could see a flock of robigeons yakking away in the sky. The exotic meat was tempting to Jazz. It had been a long time since he had hunted and it seemed that Cybertronians did not eat living creatures and frowned upon bots who did. Pit, even a few gladiators (friendlier than cannibal mech) turned green when they had stumbled across a glitchmouse being devoured by a cybercat. 

 

He sighed. As much as he longed for the warm, metal-rich energon of a fresh kill, it wasn't advisable. He didn't want to scare the locals off. Sparkpulse sufficiently curbed, Jazz took one last longing look at the silverbacks and sped off towards the ever growing city.

 

~~~

 

Within two minutes of the city gates, Jazz transformed into root mode. He didn't have any qualms about waltzing in as he was, but after causing a panic in Tarn's busiest market due to his foreign frame, he figured it was a better idea to get the ' _ what the frag kinda frame are ya?! _ ' panic out of the way first. As he walked to the window by the gate, he quickly noticed that Praxus was far more fortified than any of the other city-states he'd visited. Tarn had a cursory autoscan for contraband and Kaon had more holes than wall. These gates were pretty with bright crystals peeking out from the metal but they were also thick. Maybe even thick enough to stop a couple squadrons of tankformers. The wall was even thicker, maybe four or five times as wide as Jazz was. He quietly hoped this wasn’t a sign of xenophobia in the general population. That would make gathering information even more annoying. Jazz squared his shoulders and put on his "harmless tourist" smile on. 

 

Thugs and officers alike were far more susceptible to a guileless persona than his usual mischievous self.

 

He waltzed up to the immigration counter, which came up to his chestplates, and pressed the buzzer.

 

"Just a moment, please!" A smooth soprano hummed. Jazz's horns flicked in interest. Carrier always said you could tell a good bot if their voice made your horns resonate and his horns were very pleased at the sound of the other femme. As she gathered herself together, Jazz fished out his travel docs. He'd skimmed them off some poor bastard who'd tried to rob him in Tarn. Hacking the datapad to alter the information had been a breeze as official docs were clearly not designed with sneaky Polyhexians in mind. He'd even managed to register himself in the official database of Cybertron as well as the insubstantial town that he temporarily claimed allegiance to. So even if they ran a check, he'd pop up sure as light. He hated to be so deceptive, but Polyhex came before Cybertron every single time.

 

"Sorry for the wait, sir. How may I help yooooooou?" The world ground to a halt as Jazz stared at the other femme. So far, Jazz had gotten a taste of the kinds of bots that existed in Cybertron. There were truckformers, minibots, military builds, flashy Seekers, slim artisans, etc, etc. He'd honestly thought that he'd seen the extent of frames from which Cybertronians came. But in all of his wildest dreams, Jazz never thought he'd see something like this. The Praxian femme sat stiff in chartreuse accented navy armor, white chevron crowning her helm and a demure black band encircling her upper arm. The picture of an attentive border guard. But Jazz stood transfixed by something far more enchanting. Sprouting from her back were two glorious doorwings, frozen into shock just like their owner. The ordinary femme now sat transformed into an angelic being, reminiscent of the legendary creatures said to be contained in the diary of Solus Prime herself. Yet even those did nothing to speak of how the elegant lines dignified the frame and ennobled the face and—Jazz internally slapped himself.

 

_ 'Now ain't de time ta get flustered by a pretty face! Come to ya senses, mech!’ _ Taking two quick in-vents, Jazz pasted the guileless smile back onto his face. The border guard seemed just as shaken, thankfully, and appeared oblivious to Jazz's slip. "How ya doin', femme! Mah name's Jazz an' Ah'm here ta visit Praxus fo' 250 cycles."

 

Those lovely wings gave a rather confused flap before stiffening again. "I-I'm sorry, ser, but I've never seen a mech like you before."

 

Jazz faked a sweet laugh, optics scanning the premises around him. Bots were always scared of what they didn't know, so better to plan an escape now than risk being in a bad spot. He spied two rather burly mecha staring in his direction, both sporting the black armbands. Well, frag. That wasn't good. "Well, Ah come from a small town up de way, so Ah'm a bit different den a buncha mechs 'round here. Mah docs’re 'n order if ya wanna see 'em?"

 

The femme hesitantly took the pad, wings fluttering in adorable (if troubling) nervousness. She scanned them quickly into the database, eyeing Jazz's information as it sprang up. From the way that she dug blunt teeth into her lower lip-plate and furtive side glances, it was obvious that she couldn't find anything immediately wrong with his docs. Jazz let his smile fall into an embarrassed grimace. "Is everythang a'ight, mem? Ah kinda left inna hurry an' Ah hope they didn't mess wif mah docs...?"

 

Her blue optics widened and her cheeks gained an odd blue tinge, but her jaw set in a way that made dread pool in Jazz's tanks. "I'm afraid that I will need you to stay a bit longer, Ser Jazz. I have a few more questions that I need to ask."

 

_ 'Fraggin' Pit!' _ Jazz snarled in his head. This was the worst possible situation! It clearly wasn't his docs that had worried the femme but that meant nothing with how nervous she was. Praxus seemed a bit too squeaky clean to have dangerously corrupt cops or government officials (not with such an earnest border guard), so he'd didn't have to worry about randomly disappearing. But Jazz knew better than anyone else that appearances meant slag. Still, he didn't have a better option. Anything other than cooperation would get him thrown out of Praxus or worse and he  _ needed _ an in. Taking a slow, steady in and ex-vent, Jazz gave an appropriately harried smile.

 

"Naw, Ah get it. Y'all wanna make sure dat Ah'm who Ah say Ah am. Ah'll cooperate."

 

The femme looked apologetic— _ 'Yah should be,’ _ —but relieved. "Thank you for understanding, ser. If you'll just follow those mecha there?"

 

Jazz jumped internally at the two mecha staring down at him. He should have known something was off by the too tall counter. These bots, clearly chosen for intimidating size, towered over by two and a half heads! Jazz knew they built them big in Kaon, but at least the city was mixed enough to cater to all sizes. If this was considered big in Praxus, then what the frag was the average? He adjusted the strap on his pack and silently followed the guards. He'd figure something out.

 

~~~

 

"Major! We've got an emergency from the Border Offices!"

 

Prowl sighed, setting down his stylus before looking at his far too eager secretary. "Slicker, what did I say about knocking?"

 

Slicker scratched at his black helm, wings sinking with an embarrassed flitter. "Sorry, sir. Got a bit too excited again."

 

Prowl shook his head. The young mech had a good spark but he was far too excitable for his own good. "I appreciate enthusiasm, but remember that rash action leads to improper judgment. We Praxian Enforcers prize truth over all else. You would be wise not to forget that."

 

"Yes, sir." Slicker's wings were practically hanging limp at this point. Prowl winced internally. He didn't think he had been that harsh. Hm, he'd find a way to make Slicker feel better somehow. But for now, that call was more important.

 

"Slicker, what was the call about?" Prowl winced again as Slicker tried to pull himself together again.

 

"Wiretap says that they've detained a mech that has no frametype they've seen before. His docs came out clean but they aren't sure about what he is and if he's safe to let into the city. They want you to question him." Prowl paused. An unknown frametype? But that was practically impossible. All frametypes were well documented and it was rare for bots to have mixed relationships. Still, if his docs were valid, there was no real reason to detain him. Prowl groaned to himself. The paperwork from this bureaucratic nightmare was going to haunt him for decacycles. He just hoped that the foreign mech was going to be in a forgiving mood. Prowl powered down his hub and stood from his desk.

 

"Call the Border Office and tell them that I am on my way. Also, pull file 0110010-8365 and have it on my desk when I return. I may need to file for wrongful detainment reparations if this goes badly."

 

"Sir!" Slicker saluted.

 

As Prowl made his way through the pen, snippets of conversations filtered through his audials.

 

"Poor Slicker...."

 

"Did you see his wings droop?"

 

"Prowl's so heartless...."

 

"Wonder how long Slicker will stay?"

 

"Twenty cred on five decacycles..."

 

"How many secretaries would that make?"

 

"Well, no one likes an emotionless tight aft..."

 

Prowl kept his gaze serene and his wings high. There was no need to let them know how much their words cut deep. Prowl knew he was strict, even severe, but he didn't know how to be anything else. This was how he racked up the most arrests in the precincts history, how he made major within the first ten vorns of his twenty vorn career. And if he had to choose duty over fraternization, he would do so every single time. It didn't matter how much his subordinates feared him or how much they talked about him behind his back. Prowl would rather them be alive to complain about him than to be dead due to his poor performance.

 

He tersely nodded at the receptionist before stepping out to the bustling streets of Praxus. The purr of a thriving city never failed to soothe his nerves. Carriers towed their sparklings with colorful hitches, bots sipped a veritable rainbow of energons in open cafes, traffic chugged along at a quick, if packed, pace. The sun gleamed bright, making the buildings shimmer a subtle spectrum. There were no cries of pain or anger and any wails from sparklings were quickly soothed by their creators. All was as it should be. Spark settled somewhat, Prowl transformed into his altmode in the appropriate lane before taking off, siren blaring. Even if the city rested, he still had a job to complete. Praxus waited for no bot.


	2. Still Waters Run Deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but here's the next chapter! Once again, this was betaed by the fabulous ProwlingJazz and Searce!

Prowl pulled up to the imposing set of ruby-chipped iron buildings, folding back into his root form. He resisted the urge to stretch his wings despite the slight ache. The four joor drive was adequate enough with traffic busier than usual but smoother than expected, rendering any possible complaints illogical. His wings would be fine as long as he held them aloft and proud. Image overruled comfort for those in his position.

 

Prowl strode towards the centermost building, running over the various situations he had planned for. If the mech was simply inconvenienced, then Prowl would send him on his way. If the mech was a threat, then it would be simple enough to either eject or incarcerate him as necessary. If the mech was cantankerous..... Prowl shuddered internally at the thought. He did not like unnecessary conversation on a regular basis. Dealing with an upset and petty mech bent on making his and the Border Guard's lives the Pit would not be good for his patience. But Prowl would deal with it in his usual manner. In the face of overwhelming logic, all bots cowed before him when necessary. At least that was one small comfort.  
  
Prowl walked up to the door scanner and flicked his left wing decal to the light. With a far too chipper beep, the bulb turned green and the doors slid open. Prowl took a deep in-vent. He hated going to the Border Offices because the bots working there always associated him with internal reviews and endless paperwork. Just because the higher-ups liked to make him the bearer of bad news didn't mean that he enjoyed making people squirm. Well, unless they were criminals. Then he particularly liked to cut them down with syllogism after syllogism until they broke and confessed their crimes and— wait, where was everybody?

 

Prowl paused at the empty receptionist's desk. Protocol stated that there must a bot stationed at the desk at all times in case of immediate emergency. His mood blackened. First the Border Guard detained a mech without due cause, and now they cannot even follow the most basic procedure for the front desk! He would have to have stern words with the officers stationed here.  
  
Pressing the buzzer below the desk to unlock the door, Prowl made his way through the bizarrely empty hallway. Desks seemed abandoned in the middle of tasks and the usual officer running an errand, the small cohort huddled around the tar pot, and the dull chatter that hummed just below audial level were entirely non-existent. The irresponsibility of it all simmered under Prowl's plating. This was a place of the law, the first line of defense against outsiders breaching through Praxus and attempting to lay waste to the city. And the fact that _all_ of the officers were nowhere in sight despite the great task that lay squarely upon their shoulders only made him angrier. There would be a reckoning unlike anything that the Border Guard had ever seen upon their vornly review.  
  
The faintest burr of chatter buzzed against his doorwings, pausing Prowl mid internal rant. He took a step closer to the left and the chatter grew a bit louder. Triangulating the information his wings reported with the absence of the officers and the direction with which the noise was increasing, Prowl predicted that the Guard had gathered in the questioning rooms for some reason, probably to gawk at the mysterious mech that Wiretap had so frantically called about. Resisting the urge to sigh again, Prowl adjusted his route to find the location of all of the officers. His temper still burned but he was actively squashing the urge to let the wayward bots receive the raw brunt of his fury. He was a professional after all and would not let himself be swayed by his emotional state. When he dealt with this lapse of responsibility, it would be addressed in a calm, cool, and logical manner.  
  
As he came closer and closer, Prowl began to hear the excited murmurs of the Border Guard.  
  
"Holy frag, he's absolutely adorable!"  
  
"I know, right? I didn't know an adult mech could be so small."  
  
"Or curvy either...."  
  
"And those little horns on his head? I've never seen anything like them before!"  
  
"They twitch so prettily whenever he talks."  
  
"Did you hear his accent?"  
  
"Slag yes! He sounds so laid back and sweet. I just want to cuddle him for hours!"  
  
"Hey, I called dibs if he passes muster!"  
  
"Not if I get there first!"  
  
Prowl froze in abject horror as he finally stumbled across one of most unsettling sights he had seen in a long time. The Border Guard, one of the most elite squadrons of bots trained to be the first and best defense of Praxus in the event of enemy invasion, were cooing and squabbling like sparklings over the features of some mystery mech. There were even a few bots who Prowl knew slagging well were _happily bonded_ joining the argument over the affections of the mech. Had he stumbled into some alternate dimension on his way to the questioning rooms? What the ever-loving _frag_ had he just walked into?  
  
His temper shot, Prowl took a single digit from the grip on his emotional control and let his high-powered engine snarl, sending a nervous hush through the crowd of suddenly fearful bots. It took a lot to get Prowl to this point, but when Prowl got angry, _he was fragging terrifying._  
  
"I hope that someone can provide me with an explanation as to why the Border Guard, the pride of Praxus, stand here like a bunch of foolish sparklings instead of performing their paramount duties to their city?" Almost as one, all of the doorwings in the hall sagged in shame and the officers refused to look Prowl in the face. Prowl searched every bot's face, taking careful notes to reference later. "This unfortunate oversight will not look well for you on the vornly review, so it would be wise to get back to work as quickly as possible. Am I understood?"  
  
The chagrined group of bots scattered, shamefacedly dashing to their abandoned work desks to make up for their admittedly egregious lapse in judgment. Prowl watched them leave, his face stern. It was imperative that each bot here knew the gravity of their actions. And if that made him the villain of their lives, then so be it. Perhaps a few weeks’ return to basic training would remind them of the severity and necessity of their occupation. Yes, the challenging physical work would definitely bring their attention back to where it was supposed to be.

The last femme shuffled miserably out of the door, leaving Prowl with the task that he was supposed to be working on. Who the frag was this mysterious mech that had caused such havoc in the Border Offices by sheer presence alone? Even if the mech had no problems that Prowl could detect, the disorder that he caused in his wake was worrying. Prowl could only hope that the mech himself was far more orderly than his effects. Spying the door, Prowl pulled the datapad containing the pertinent information about the mech, whose name seemed to be Jazz.  
  
_‘Odd name.'_ Prowl mused. He flicked through the docs, which appeared to be in proper order, as he walked through the doors to the questioning room.  
  
"I apologize, Ser Jazz, for the delay in my arrival. The Border Guard deemed it necessary that I—" Prowl looked up from the datapad and froze. His spark spun in its chamber in a manner he had never felt before for the mech in front of him was absolutely stunning in a way that Prowl had never seen in his life. There sat a gorgeous foreign frame, clearly voluptuous though much of his torso and hips were hidden beneath the table. His pedes barely scraped the ground, a sign that he was much shorter than the average Praxian. That realization did things to Prowl's insides that he was not too keen on examining further. Plain black and white gleamed predominant on Jazz's plating with accents in red and blue striping his pretty chestplates. A strange aqua visor peered intelligently out of an angular, but sweet, tungsten face that boasted the fullest lips Prowl had ever seen. And most frustratingly entrancing of all twitched two thick steel-filigreed horns that seemed to have as much personality as the mech sprawled casually in the chair. They flicked and shifted as much as any set of doorwings with a language that Prowl could feel his tac-net scrambling to decipher. All in all, this Jazz was the loveliest mech that he had ever laid his optics on. And, in typical fashion, it was Prowl's assignment to interrogate him. Just great.  
  
"Well, finally! Ah ain't de most impatient o'mechs, but dat wuz practically an eternity!" Prowl twitched ever so slightly as the almost singsong accent curled around his audials and wings in a far too pleasing manner. Primus, this mech was distracting.  
  
"My apologies again for the wait," Prowl said, wincing at the half-klick long pause in his response. "I am Major Prowl of the Praxian Enforcers Central Offices. It is a four joor trip from here to my station and I was only notified a few breems before I departed. I trust the Guard treated you justly?"  
  
Jazz smiled wryly, scratching behind one horn with a rather sharp claw. "Dey treated meh well nuff. Got meh a cup o' tar an’ a coupla' energon bars while Ah waited fo’ ya."  
  
"Good." Prowl turned back to the datapad and began to run through the usual questions he had for potential witnesses. "Where are you from, Jazz?"  
  
"Ah'm from de tiny village o' Cable. Ain't really much dere in de way o' anythang'."  
  
"And you plan to visit Praxus for 250 cycles?"  
  
"Well, Ah jus' wanted ta get away fo’ a good long while. Ah wanted ta explore all o' Cybertron an' Praxus is on mah list. ‘Sides, y'all got some cute bots 'round these parts."  
  
Prowl paused from his analysis. Was Jazz......flirting? He looked up to see Jazz with a perfectly innocent smile crossing his features. Even though his tac-net stayed quiet, Prowl trusted his instincts on this one. Jazz's smile was too practiced for it to be genuine. _‘If that's how he wants to play it...'_  
  
"So, what's it like down in Cobalt? Is there a city-state close by that you affiliate with?"  
  
"It's Cable, an' we're close by ta Simfur." Prowl hummed noncommittally and noted the half-shade darkening of Jazz's visor. That was an interesting reaction. Perhaps he should tease out the cause.  
  
"Of course, you are right. So tell me, what's it like in Cable? I've always wanted to visit that area but have been restricted to Praxus proper due to my position."  
  
Jazz grinned, leaning back in his chair, his visor back to the exact shade of aqua that matched the aquamarine crystal his sire used to tend in his childhood home— Prowl mentally slapped himself for the comparison. There was no time to wax poetic or get fixated on a pretty little mech! He had a job to complete.  
  
"Well, Major Prowl," Jazz drawled, turning major into ' _may-jah_ ', "There ain't nothin' o' interest back home. Jus' a buncha old bots livin' dey last few vorns in peace. But dere used ta be a travelin' fair dat would stop by back a while ago."  
  
Prowl felt his doorwing flick at the fact. His tac-net confirmed Jazz's words. Jazz had sufficient documentation from Cable and he seemed to personally know the admittedly dead old village quite well. But that didn't stop Prowl's instincts from buzzing about something being off.  
  
"So why Praxus of all cities?" He posited. Jazz dodged his gaze, but Prowl espied the dusting of dull blue on his cheeks. He figured whatever was said next would be the truth, even if it was not the whole truth.  
  
"Ah wanted ta get out from beyond Simfur an' explore all o' Cybertron, like Ah said. Ah didn't expect dat Praxus’ld be so pretty."  
  
Prowl's spark preened at the words. He knew that Praxus was a beautiful city and having an outsider confirm his beliefs made him even prouder of his home. But as for Jazz beginning to flush, he could not begin to imagine why appreciation of the city would make anyone embarrassed. Ah well. Prowl may be a tactician, but he was no mind reader despite the rumors of his co-workers.  
  
Despite the incredibly suspicious feeling welling in his processor, Prowl could not deny that there was no legal reason for Jazz to be detained. His docs checked out; there was extensive documentation in Cybertron’s and Cable’s databases around him, and there were no outstanding warrants or legal troubles that would justify throwing him out. Even as his processor screamed for Prowl to keep Jazz under close surveillance, he knew he had little choice. Prowl tapped the datapad on the table and handed it back to Jazz.  
  
"Well, Jazz. It looks like all of your information checks out. I apologize again for the detainment and for the long wait. I hope that this will not color your impression of Praxus or its Enforcers." Jazz flashed another bright smile and stood to receive his docs. Prowl felt his spark flutter again. If his calculations were correct, and they were a full ninety-five percent of the time, Jazz would struggle to brush the bottom of his chin if Prowl stood at his full height. The perfect size to tuck against himself while still being able to nibble at those pretty little horns—  
  
"'Scuse meh, Major?" Jazz's curiosity thankfully threw Prowl out of the downright humiliating spiral his thought had led him.  
  
"Yes, Jazz?" Jazz ducked his helm, left horn lowering shyly. Somehow Prowl had a feeling that this Jazz wasn't known for his shyness.  
  
"Ah don't know much 'bout Praxus and Ah don't know what's considered prime locations 'round here, so Ah wuz wonderin’ iffen ya can show meh any cheap places ta stay for a coupla' cycles."  
  
Prowl thought to himself. The biggest tourist hubs were by the Crystal Gardens and the major racing circuits. If Jazz wanted a cheaper place that still had sufficient proximity to the most popular places in Praxus... Prowl could feel his tanks twist even as his spark purred. This was going to be a long 250 cycles. He swallowed his pride.  
  
"If you don't mind being three klicks away from the Enforcers' Central Offices, then there is a fairly inexpensive option that I know well."  
  
Jazz's visor brightened and he whooped excitedly. "T'anks, Major Prowl! D'ya mind if Ah follow ya back to de hotel?"  
  
Prowl wanted to say no even as he cleared his schedule and rearranged meeting times. This little mech was going to be disruptive to his way of life. But, as Jazz smiled at Prowl with that luminescent visor and bright _fangy_ smile, Prowl knew that he would follow those lovely horns almost to the ends of Cybertron itself. He stood to his pedes (and confirmed his hypothesis on Jazz's height) and nodded towards the door. "I have no more pressing engagements. Shall we?" 

* * *

 

Sufficiently chastised but still curious, Lightswitch crept from her office to spy on the strange mech. She still felt impossibly guilty about detaining him. But she really was nervous about letting unknown frames just prance straight into Praxus. The first rule of being a Border Guard Enforcer was Praxus over spark. Even if she felt like she was entirely too harsh, at least Praxus was safer with Jazz going through a stricter screening process, right? Her wings flopped at the thought of Major Prowl's sharp glossa. The Frozen Major himself had come down and had been absolutely terrifying. Lightswitch had only been in her position of a half-vorn and so she had only heard the rumors about the Frozen Major. To be honest, she was convinced they were all exaggerations. But now.....  
  
Lightswitch shuddered, clamping her plating tight to her protoform. She never wanted to be on the edge of that frigid gaze ever again. But she had to know! Was that pretty little mech ok? He had been incredibly sweet and understanding despite the long joors he had waited for his interrogation. All of her co-workers were floored when he walked in behind Chaser and Guardian. Everyone's wings burst in a flurry of furious conversation, gossiping about the strikingly cute mech. Lightswitch snorted to herself as she rounded a corner. She'd never seen so many bots fighting over offering someone snacks and drinks. Yet, seeing that brilliant smile radiate genuinely from that sweet face made her burn with jealousy that she wasn't the one to take him anything.  
  
But she could do something now! She could make sure that Jazz was alright. Major Prowl was a terror and she hoped that Jazz would come out fine. Prolonged exposure to the Frozen Major seemed hazardous to anyone's mental health. And maybe, maybe Jazz would need an assist. She figured by the quiet exit and lack of a request for transport that Jazz had been absolved of any suspicion. But maybe he was scared or scarred from the intensity that Major Prowl exuded. Well, not on her watch! Major Prowl may have control over the Enforcers, but she would not let him bully a hapless mech!  
  
Lightswitch burst into the front desk area, ready to defend a distressed Jazz, but panicked as she saw Major Prowl and Jazz finishing up the last of the exit paperwork. She ducked being a pillar, cursing her lack of attention. She waited until she heard the soft click of pedes walking away before she peeped out. There was Jazz, sunny and warm. He seemed to be regaling Major Prowl with some sort of tale, hands animated with demonstrating the crazier details. And Major Prowl, well, Lightswitch almost couldn't recognize him! His features seemed softer, somehow, and his golden optics followed every movement Jazz made with a bizarrely eager fascination. Even his wings, usually flared at stiff attention, made emphatic (if slight) motions when he asked questions or made comments. He was no longer the Frozen Major; he almost looked like a normal Praxian mech. Lightswitch took one last longing look at the odd pair and made a slow retreat back to her office.  
  
It seemed that there was much more to Major Prowl than met the eye.


	3. Praxus Stares Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, real life is a bit of a bitch and a half. Thanks for the patience and the lovely comments. Shout out to FleetingFan and Searce and the rest of the Lonely Prowl server for helping me with the betaing.

Jazz peeked at his escort in between glances of the incredible sprawl of Praxus. While the buildings were gorgeous, he couldn't help but be captivated by the rather stunning mech cruising in front of him. Major Prowl had been an experience, to say the least. Though he was not the biggest mech Jazz had encountered (that honor went to the giant Tarn freighter that had liked to keep Jazz perched on her shoulder), Major Prowl had the most presence of any bot Jazz had ever met. When he had strode into the room, Jazz’s spark stuttered. Praxians seemed to be all long limbs and sleek lines with those lovely wings to broaden the frame. But Prowl? Major Prowl turned that elegance into motion. Every movement and every word was purely ergonomical without a single wasted action. Everything about him screamed of intelligent purpose, navigating through his conversation with Jazz at complete ease. Jazz was positive that Major Prowl knew he wasn't telling the whole truth. But he appreciated that Major Prowl didn't detain him illegally to hash out his suspicions. There weren't a lot of Enforcers that he'd encountered in Cybertron that would do that.

 

—ONCOMING COMM CALL FROM: Unknown

           —ACCEPT

           —IGNORE

 

Jazz paused. Anyone who would have wanted to comm him was entirely out of reach on the other side of the globe and he hadn't given his frequency to anyone since landing on this shore, so the only logical conclusion was...

 

He accepted the call.

 

**:I assume this is Jazz?:** Major Prowl's dulcet baritone thrummed through Jazz's speakers, making warmth pool in his tanks. Just as he had thought.

 

**:Ah'd ask how ya got mah number, coppah bot, but Ah assume dat ya got ya methods undah wraps.:** There was a slight pause before Major Prowl responded, making Jazz smirk. He knew the good major had been looming over his shoulder a bit too long as he had been filling out the exit paperwork. But Jazz didn't think Major Prowl had the bearings to actually snag his frequency like that. Maybe the major was far more interesting than just a pair of pretty wings.

 

**:I had thought it prudent for me to guide you through your first drive through Praxus as you probably would enjoy some navigational tips and tourist hotspots.:**

 

_'Nice save,'_ Jazz thought. He could take this opportunity to tease the good major, but he was feeling far too benevolent. Too bad he wasn’t about to let Prowl’s lovely wings to go unruffled.

 

**:Ya sure ‘bout dat, major? Cuz it sounds like ya wanna piece o’ de Jazzmeister hisself?:** he purred. Much to his delight, Major Prowl swerved slightly in front of him. Jazz really did love to get under the armor of mechs, especially those that were tall, pretty, and a bit too uptight.

 

**:I-I assure you, Ser Jazz, that my intentions were nothing short of honorable—:** Jazz could not help but chuckle loudly. Frag, Prowl was cute. If such a teasing jest could cause such panic, perhaps he should tone down his usual levels of snark.

 

**:No harm, no foul, Major. Jus’ a lil’ teasin’. Ah appreciating havin’ a native guide to de city an’ am willin’ ta overlook a coupla’ thangs.:**

 

**:Well as long as you’re sure.:**

 

**:Ah am. So, tell meh 'bout dis lovely city called Praxus.:**

 

**:Where shall I begin then?:** Jazz mulled it over. There were a lot of angles that he could start from, the average life of a citizen, the kind of cafes and entertainment centers that appealed to natives and tourists alike. But he always felt that the best way to know a city is to hear about its history first and learn how it went from shabby settlement to monstrous metropolis. Citizens may run the city but the city defined its citizens.

 

**:Can ya give meh a rundown o’ Praxian history?:**

 

**:I shall oblige. During the era of the First Primes, Praxus was founded by Alchemist Prime, the First Judge, from whom our Mountains gained their name. He took a group of like-minded bots, including disgraced Seekers who had renounced the arrogant Onyx Prime along with their framekin, and settled this harsh land. As the generations passed, the Seekers procreated with the land-based bots and the once flight-capable wings changed to instead become sensory appendages that registered supplementary sensory data. And so the Praxian frametype was born. Soon after, the Fallen betrayed the Primes and the War began.:**

 

Where before Jazz would tend to try to compare the stories of the era of the First Primes to Polyhex's stories of it, he instead found himself paying more attention to the cadence of Prowl’s speaking voice and natural rhythm of speech. To any untrained audial, Prowl's tone was dry and monotonous. This recounting of Praxian history would be nothing short of a recharge aid. But Jazz could hear the slightest inflections in every word the major uttered. The soft proud purr when he mentioned the great deeds that Praxus had accomplished. The snarl that darkened his tone as he mentioned the few wars that Praxus had been involved in. The baritone that Major Prowl boasted was anything but clinical to Jazz's sensitive audials. Truthfully, his voice told Jazz more about the major than his stiff demeanor. Major Prowl was a _very_ interesting mech _._ And Jazz was liking him the more and more he spoke.

 

Jazz basked happily the the dulcet tones of Major Prowl, engine purring at every word. Jazz had set his processor to record the major's spiel about Praxus so he could later spend time listening to all of those nuances that colored that lovely, _lovely_ voice. Even among 'hexians, Jazz's audial processing systems were particularly sensitive and he relished anything that made him thrum from music to the hum of Polyhexian traffic to this mech's warm voice. The longer he listened, the more Jazz knew he'd have to see the major again. He may have a mission to complete, but he wasn't about to let a voice like that disappear into the auditory chaos of Praxus before Jazz got to know the mech behind it.

 

Ricochet’s words filled his helm suddenly. _“'Ah’m sure ya'll find_ some _bot who’ll make ya swoon ‘n Cybertron, Jazzy. Ya ain't as clever as ya t’ink ya are.’”_

 

Jazz shuddered deeply and fervently thanked Solus that everyone who could roast him alive for his massive crush were on the opposite side of the planet. Because Jazz did not know how he would survive with Rico teasing him that the famous Jazzmeister had finally found somebot that could hold his interest for more than a few cycles. Yeah, it was sudden and yeah, Jazz felt weird that he had developed this massive crush on some random bot, an Enforcer to boot, who he may never see again. But frag it all, there was something that kept dragging Jazz back towards Major Prowl. He wasn’t sure if it was his self-imposed celibacy while on mission or if it was something deeper; all that Jazz knew is that he wanted to crawl under Prowl’s plating and find out what made his processor tick. If only there wasn’t a city-defining mission getting in the way of his lovelife.

 

Jazz ruffled his plating and sighed. He just prayed that when he hopefully returned with the Polyhexian delegation, that Rico would be far, far, _far_ away so he wouldn't meet Major Prowl before Jazz was good and ready. For now, Jazz just let himself float in every inflection and glottal stop, humming at the steady intonation that flowed through his frame like calm rusty waves upon the beach.

 

He wasn't sure why, but he had the strangest suspicion that Major Prowl and Praxus were going to wreak havoc on his usual cool lagoon vibes and somehow he was going to be okay with that. Well, as his carrier used to say, "Bettah ta swim wit' da riptide den ta try fo’ shore." And this was one riptide that Jazz did not want to fight.

 

* * *

 

**:We're here, Jazz. Please use the designated lane to transform into your bipedal form:** Jazz jumped a bit, slamming on his brakes so he wouldn’t hit the major in front of him. Had four joors passed so quickly already? Jazz tilted a mirror and winced as it twinged with pain. Yep, definitely been four joors. If there was one thing that Jazz would never get used to, it was the massive distances everything was in Cybertron. Everything took joors upon joors, and that was just inside the city. Suddenly, Major Prowl’s words registered.

 

_‘De frag wuz a designated lane?’_ Jazz peeked to his left and stared dumbly as bots pulled into the lane closest to the walkway and transformed orderly before exiting the road. That… was one of the bizarrest sights he’d ever seen, all stiff and robotic. Even uptight Tarnians transformed _as_ they joined the foot traffic. The whole idea of coming to a full stop just to get out of the road just felt _wrong_.

 

Jazz lazily shifted into his root form and stretched his limbs. Four joors was a long while to be cooped up in an alt mode, even if the company was more than pleasant. Plus, it was always nice to hear the buzz of the city on two pedes as opposed to four wheels.

 

The oppressive silence, however, stopped him mid neck crack.

 

It was never good when an entire city went silent. Jazz forced air out of his vents and looked around. _All_ optics were on him and when he said all, Jazz meant _all_. Mechs and femmes and other bots, old timers, younglings, and sparklings; time froze for a few klicks as Jazz stared at downtown Praxus and downtown Praxus stared back. It was also never good to have an entire fragging city focus their entire attention on him.

 

Jazz’s processor dragged up an unwanted memory file of Tarn, the absolute silence before the piercing yells, the thundering pedesteps of a veritable army of Enforcers mobilizing straight for him, the mad dash through unfamiliar and hostile streets before a, blessedly, friendly servo tugged him into an alcove. Jazz honestly did not know where would be if it wasn’t for Long Haul and her mate Oversize vouching for him to the Enforcers. While most respectable Tarnians never grew to like him, the freighters and haulers adopted him as one of their own. Jazz struggled but successfully hid the memory before he was completely lost in it. By all accounts, Praxus should be different. He had a Praxian Enforcer as a voucher from the beginning. Hopefully, that would dispel any potentially dangerous reactions  With a deep in-vent, Jazz flashed a bright smile to the gawking Praxians. There was a beat… and then every last wing began to flutter madly.

 

Jazz was taken aback. Of all the reactions he was expecting, this was not one of them. He flashed a covert look at Major Prowl who wore a slightly exacerbated look as he looked out at his framekin. From the minute flinches that corresponded a bit too well with fluctuations in wing movement, Jazz guessed that Praxians had some sort of wing language just like Polys had hornsign. The position, cant, movement all seemed to have some sort of meaning, even if Jazz couldn't figure that meaning out. Well, at least the Praxians weren't rushing him en masse to boot him out of the city. Jazz called that a victory in his book. He turned to Major Prowl.

 

"So, Major. Ready ta take meh to de 'otel?"

 

Major Prowl nodded with a weary glance at his gossiping kin. "If you'll follow me."

 

As the two walked down the block, Jazz watched as each new Praxian froze before fluttering their wings in that silent language of theirs. While there seemed to be no hostility in the  movements, Jazz was becoming more and more unnerved as time went on. It just wasn't natural for bots to be so struck by his image. Not even the Kaonites unnerved him this much and they were taller than the Praxians as a whole. What Jazz needed to do was some recon. Energon cafes, which liberally littered the storefronts, would be a sound place to eavesdrop. Hopefully, he would be able to position himself in a way to overhear some bots actually TALKING about _why the frag everyone wouldn't stop staring_.

 

Jazz forced his paranoid subroutines into the back of his processor and focused on the city. It truly was even lovelier up close. Buildings ranging from magnesium white to obsidian black gleamed bright and smooth like fresh oil slick. Jazz wondered how they were able to get the building to shine like that until he was able to get a closer look and see it was all thanks to the rainbow of crystals imbedded in the metal itself. Jazz held his servo out and watched the refracted spectrum of light dance upon the plating. _Incredible._

 

Suddenly, Jazz was jerked into Major Prowl’s side. He opened his mouth to protest but an angry Praxian in blue and white barrelled right where Jazz would have been standing. The wild gesticulating suggested that xe was fighting with someone. Jazz flushed. He really needed to watch his surroundings.

  
“T’anks fo’ de assist, major.”  Prowl nodded. Jazz tore his gaze from the buildings and analyzed the area.

 

The Mainland seemed to all prefer shop buildings, as opposed to the open-air markets of Polyhex, and Praxus was no different. Though the selection was no less expansive for it. Every conceivable type of item was sold within buildings, waxes and polishes, cushions and meshes, art and paints, prettied up to look like it would be a shame to actually use them and mar the finish. The stores eventually blended into a  with a myriad of chic names and fancy window displays to tempt even the stuffiest of customers. While everything looked too polished for Jazz's tastes, he could not deny the pleasing aesthetics.

 

The usual businesses common to all Cybertronians were plentiful, but Jazz was looking for things unique to Praxus. Be it in different forms, basic energon, maintenance, and housing were all the same thus far, but each city shone in the unique items that catered to their citizens alone. Kaon had its gladiators and associated merchandise while Tarn had recrafters, artisans who smelted rusted out junk and created beautiful art from the purified metal. Praxus, it seemed, had crystals. From snacks to gardening kits to art to jewelry to building supplies, everything featured crystals. And frag them for making it work, it should have gaudy by all rights. The thousands upon thousands of crystals that flashed on everything should have cracked his optics and made it impossible to see anything through the shine, but they only enhanced the elegant beauty of Praxus. Crystals were applied in straight lines and deliberate angles to best compliment the arc of a lovely bumper or the geometric shapes of a storefront. Various colors were selected at the perfect wavelength to compliment the rather demure hues that covered everything from the bots to the buildings. Everything was organized in a beautifully strange ordered chaos and Jazz couldn't help but love it all.

 

“So, what do you think of Praxus, Ser Jazz.” Jazz turned to Major Prowl with a bright

 

"Praxus is absolutely stunnin', Major." Those lovely doorwings preened subtly at the sentiment, making Jazz hide a smile.

 

"It is indeed a fine city to dwell in, Ser Jazz." Jazz hummed at Major Prowl's neutral response. His horns shivered again from the quiet yet proud purr that resonated from the major. Frag, it was getting real hard to keep himself a neutral observer. The major paused before gently guiding Jazz into a small alcove. The delicate scrape of a jet forearm accidentally sliding against Jazz's obsidian hip forced him to lock down his vocalizer before a happy trill burbled. Jazz was far too smart —and proud— to let out such a vulnerable sound while still in the middle of unfamiliar territory.

 

"Forgive me the detour, but I believe it a necessary distraction." Jazz arched an optic ridge. Major Prowl audibly restarted his own vocalizer before continuing. "That set of magnesium white buildings with onyx awnings, near the specialty tar shop, are the Central Offices where I work. I currently reside in Building 110, Floor 21, Office 76. Feel free to visit me if necessary."

 

The major paused, seeming to fight for his next few words. "I know that you are a stranger to Praxus, but I can point you towards certain tourist attractions and local hotspots if you desire locations to visit."

 

Jazz could not believe his absolute luck. The good major had effectively handed Praxus to him on a shiny platter! Now he had an excellent in to not only the polished shell the city presented to outsiders but the dirty little secrets common to residents. And since Prowl was a coppah bot, he could also get a handle on the overall safety of the city with far more accuracy. But something felt..... off. Major Prowl seemed far too quiet and reserved to be offering such personal information to a veritable stranger. Jazz prided himself on being an uncannily accurate judge of character, reading fields, body language, and facial expressions for the slightest changes and different nuances to suss out the dark and nasty hidden bits of bots. He was sure this talent had prevented him from ending up stewing in a smelting pit on more than one occasion. Yet Major Prowl was proving a strange enigma. He seemed the type to have the kind of strong moral compass that always pointed true north, making him the type to usually come across as monotonous, aloof, and pompous to Jazz.  But Jazz could hear the earnest notes hidden deep in his voice. Jazz assumed that he preferred privacy, routine, and quiet like the other bots that matched his personality profile. And yet, the major had graciously presented his office number and comms frequency to Jazz, even if it produced some small internal strife in Prowl. While Jazz seriously doubted that Major Prowl was a secret mass murderer, the deviation of what appeared to be a stiff desk officer to an almost flirt was _fascinating_.

 

"Ser Jazz?"

 

"Ah, sorreh Major!" Jazz scrambled to continue the conversation, feeling the prickle of energon sliding up his cheeks. "Mah carrier's always called meh a dreamah wit’ mah processor in de stratosphere. Ah 'ppreciate de offer an' Ah may take ya up on dat."

 

Major Prowl nodded once before reintegrating himself gracefully into foot traffic. Jazz stumbled after him before adjusting to the rhythm. It would have been a far smoother process if his processor could figure out if Prowl's lips were ever so slightly upturned or not. Oh, this was going to be a fun and _frustrating_ 250 cycles.

 

* * *

 

Stopgap, front desk worker at the Sapphire Retreat, surveyed the strange mech (Jazz, xir processor pinged) standing in front of xir with no small amount of suspicion. Xe didn't trust foreign mechs one bit. They all came in with grins and strange accents before they trashed the room or had a glitch-fit over "subpar service" or worse, skimped out on the bill. He could tell just by looking, this one was going to be just as annoying. Stupid smile, funny words, awful pain in the aft. That’s how it always went. The only thing stopping him from admitting the hotel was _unfortunately_ all booked up was the Enforcer behind him. The major, from the rank emblazoned on his wings, loomed over all the hotel check-in procedures. While Stopgap wasn’t stupid enough to frag with the ordeal of renting out a room for a “guest”, it was rather intimidating to have such a high ranking officer staring down at everything xe was doing. Somehow, Stopgap knew that this Jazz was going to be very bad for xir oil pressure levels.

 

“And how long shall the, ah, guest be staying for?”

 

“Yeah, dat’s de t’ing, mah bot. Ah need a room fo’ 250 cycles. D’ya have a long-term rate dat Ah can pay?”

 

Stopgap’s optics fritzed. _Two hundred and fifty cycles_?!? That was an eternity to trapped with some foreigner. How would one even be allowed a visa to stay that long?! Xir poor hotel would never be the same again! Xe’d be scrubbing energon and other unmentionable stains from the room for decacycles on end. The recharge berth would have to be entirely thrown out and Primus knows xe wouldn’t have the funds to pay for a new one, even with that many credits. Forcing xir optics to reboot, xe flashed a nervous smile at that stupid foreigner. “Let me check my records.”

 

Xe frantically flipped through xir hub, desperate to collect xir thoughts. How was xe going to mitigate the damage? There was no curb date for paying guests and there was a reduced rate for long-term guests. Not for the first time, xe cursed xir decision to open a hotel under a franchise rather than xir own little place. At least then, xe could make and change the rules as xe so chose without worrying about breaking some slagging “company policy”. Xe took a feverish glance at that smug little mech. There was no way out of this, was there?

 

“‘Scuse meh, xem.”

 

“Yes?” Stopgap asked, voice teetering on the edge of panicked.

 

“Ya seem kinda peaky. Ah gotta old family ene’gon recipe dat’s good fo’ calmin’ ya circuits. Wouldja like a bit?” The concerned look on the foreigner’s face seemed almost genuine. Too bad it was probably some joke or some over-seasoned monstrosity that would leave xir with the worst tankache imaginable. Frag it all, xe was too tired for all this slag. Stopgap paused.

 

There's an idea.

 

Might as well get some sick leave and get away from this whole business. There were enough employees to ensure that the business wouldn’t fall to pieces if xe was out for a few cycles. Sure, why not. Xe’d take the stupid mech’s “family recipe” and enjoy some time off for xirself when xir systems inevitably rioted at the unknown food. At least then, he wouldn’t have to deal with these conniving foreigners hellbent on making xir life so troublesome.

 

“If it wouldn’t trouble you—”

 

“Course not, Ah’d be ‘appy to,” the mech chirped, fishing around in his subspace before withdrawing a small pouch of woven steel. He plucked a small round treat and handed it to Stopgap. Feigning a moment’s hesitation with a mild stretch, xe took the strange treat. The dull blue color reminded xir of an unpolished sapphire but the springy texture was more like a firm energon jelly. Steeling ximself for the worst, xe popped it into xir mouth before xe unnerved xirself.

 

What the _frag_ was xe chewing? _And why was it so good?_

 

The little treat tasted impossibly sweet, a flavor that xe had not had the opportunity to try in Praxus. As Stopgap chewed, xir glossa began to tingle and the faintest burning sensation filled xir mouth. Xe had tried many different “exotic” treats in some high end shops when xe could afford, but xe couldn’t place this flavor. Xe’d never even heard of energon that felt like it warmed the mouth. Xe could feel the treat go down into his tanks and continue to warm xir frame from the inside out. Xe truly was relaxing for the first time in a very long time. Xe didn’t know who or what the little foreigner was, but no one who made treats like that could be an evil mech, even if he wasn’t Praxian.

 

Stopgap sighed. Maybe he could ask the foreign— _Jazz—_ to share some more of those treats with xir when xe got panicky again. “I have a room and rate that you may find acceptable…..”


	4. The Yawning Void of Obsession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, FINALLY! This chapter has been a long time coming and its finally done. I thank my beloved readers who have left glorious comments and have been patient with my slow ass. I promise that I will catch up with responses as soon as I am done posting this chapter. A big shoutout to the Lonely Prowl discord that has been with me since the beginning and for group beta-ing the fic. Special shoutout to Searece, TurboFerret, and FleetingFan77 for their hard work and support. And so, without further ado, chapter 4

Datawork was a strange thing. It seemed to be an unsolvable logic puzzle from Alchemist Prime himself. The piles and piles and piles of data pads had begun to resemble the Impossible Knot the Prime had used to punish the First Slayer. Prowl sighed as he set a tablet into his outbox. It was his own doing that landed him in this position. He _had_ to take an interest as to why his datawork was being processed so strangely which meant discovering the corrupt bureaucratic nightmare that was the old filing system. Information had been regularly lost by either department-hopping to find specific authorization or conveniently misplaced for a modest fee. Needless to say, it had taken three vorns, two demotions, decaorns upon decaorns of planning, and some decidedly cutthroat logic before he finally had shut the whole operation down.  
  
_'But I just couldn't be satisfied with stopping the crooked cops,'_ Prowl snarled internally as he slammed down another damned pad into his outbox. No, he'd also had to make it his singular mission to rebuild the whole process from the ground up, since obviously there was no fixing the current one. As the mech who tore it down, it was his responsibility after all. Prowl sighed. How was he supposed to know that his efforts convinced the Chief Administrator that Prowl was the mech to helm datawork from then until his deactivation?  
  
The most frustrating matter of all was that Prowl did not even mind datawork. He found the monotonous work extremely pleasant as there were no loose ends, no manipulated results or outright lies, and certainly no face to face encounters with bots. Everything was simple, clean, logical with loopholes that could be easily caught and reprimanded quickly. It came so naturally to him, that he was actually _three decaorns_ ahead of schedule despite the sheer volume of pads that came to him everyday. But fraggit, Prowl missed the road! He missed the rush of a high speed chase, the thrill of taking someone down, the immediate satisfaction of knowing he made the city automatically safer.. He missed walking the streets of Praxus and letting his tacnet run wild to catalogue anything and everything. He missed poring over evidence for even the slightest pattern to exploit. And most of all, he missed the feeling of satiated calm whenever he hauled in a criminal to face their crimes and bury themselves in a grave of Prowl's making. His prey went nowhere but to the magistrates and then prison. The perfect end to a perfect case.  
  
Prowl's spark raced and his frame was filled with a strange energy that he did not know what to do with. There was nothing for him here but four cold walls, a gaggle of workers who feared him, and a thrice-damned mountain of datawork that was not going to just disappear any time soon. He was a pursuit model, for Alchemist's sake! He did not sit behind desks and filter data all day for two vorns straight. His left wing violently flicked with the urge to flip his desk before he could wrestle it, and himself, under control. Prowl took a deep in-vent. He needed to remember where he was. His tacticians could barely handle behavioral corrections, much less an emotional outburst from him.  
  
If things did not get any more interesting, Prowl knew he was going to snap. Suddenly an aqua visor and a cocky fanged smile flashed through his processor. Prowl felt his optic fritz. That was definitely not what he meant by "more interesting". That strange mech-Jazz was nothing but pure trouble. No one came to Praxus as a tourist, _no one_ .  
  
Praxus sat between the foreboding Alchemic Mountains and the practically impenetrable Magnetic Desert. Yes, bots from the rest of Cybertron loved Praxian crystals but no one was stupid enough to go to the source. Praxus suffered from centivorns of isolation (though thank Primus for the interwebs) from the rest of Cybertron as a result and newcomers could not understand Praxian culture to save their lives, literally in some cases. Prowl shook his helm. Praxus was not like Iacon or Vos where the uncultivated world had been completed tamed out of the city and thus the residents. Though the heart of the city lay far removed from the Alchemic Mountains and Magnetic Desert, the borders still teemed with danger. Not merely wild but _Wild_ in an ancient sense. Outsiders never understood the deep respect Praxians held for the remaining wilderness on the edges of their city. They found it a nuisance, flying over the Mountains on transports that traveled four times a vorn or skirting the Deserts to pass through the security checkpoint, complaining all the way about  “backwards Praxian preferences”. And then they had the audacity to wonder why Praxians disdained outsiders.  
  
Suddenly, his tac-net threw up a bright pink alert: there were no transports that landed outside of the Mountains the day that Jazz showed up at the Gates. Strange. How did he make it over them, then? He could not have looped around the Desert as his docs indicated that he had only visited Kaon before going to Tarn. And there was no other way across the mountains other than the transport. Well, no sane way at least.

Wait. _Could Jazz have—_

—ONCOMING COMM CALL FROM: Runner  
            —ACCEPT  
            —IGNORE  
  
Odd, his receptionist never called him. They only communicated through calendar scheduling and e-messages. Prowl picked up.  
  
:Major Prowl speaking.:  
  
:Yes, we have a rather..... strange mech asking to see you.:  
  
A sinking feeling of dread diffused through Prowl's body.  
  
:Define strange?:  
  
:He's a short horned frame who's surprisingly pretty for being foreign and unwinged. I believe he said his designation was—:  
  
: _Jazz_ : Prowl groaned. He barely withstood the urge to bury his helm into his servos. Primus damn it all, another grain of sand under his armor. Now, that infuriatingly gorgeous mech had waltzed his way into Prowl's sanctuary. And the worst part of it all was that Prowl only had himself to blame.  
  
:You know him, sir?: The surprised tone cut deeper than Prowl wanted to admit. Yes, Jazz may be a foreign frame, but Prowl would bet his vornly salary that Runner simply did not think Prowl had any friends. And he did have some! Just.... not a lot compared to the average Praxian.  
  
:Yes, I do. Does he have a reason for requesting me?:  
  
:Yes. He says that he wants to thank you for helping him out— oooooooh!:  
  
That sound did not herald good things.  
  
:He has a quality box of treats and a big tar cuboid from Bubble and Flake! Lucky you! That place makes the most amazing goodies and I've been trying to get my Synthesis to take me there for the longest time but you know he doesn't even like goodies which makes it so hard for me to cook anything for him because he only likes plain energon with ascorbic acid and how am I supposed to show off my cooking if that's all he eats which reminds me that I need to go out to buy more—:  
  
: Runner !: Prowl snapped. :Enough. Back to the present situation please.:  
  
:Ah yes, sorry, Major.: Prowl suppressed the flinch his internals made at Runner's cowed tone. He could never figure out how to reprimand others without hurting them. Either he was too quiet and they ignored him or he snapped at them and they were off-put. Frag it all, other bots needed to come with an instruction manual; they were too confusing.  
  
:Please send Jazz up to my offices. I will deal with him shortly,: Prowl decided, awkwardly ending the conversation.  
  
:Of course, Major. Runner out.: Well, that could have gone a lot better. Prowl allowed himself a single ex-vent. He would have to find some small way to apologize to Runner. Prowl may be prickly but he was not cruel. Plus, Runner was the most stubborn and useful of the long line of receptionists who had floated through his department (even if his attention to comm protocol was flimsy at best), so smoothing things over would be a practical idea. Thankfully, the gushing over that new cafe, Bubble and Flake, suggested a good way to apologize without risking further social interaction. From his reaction, Prowl deduced that Runner liked new and unique tastes, so perhaps something thick and sweet would be the best bet.  He portioned off a section of his tac-net to review the Bubble and Flake menu while cross-referencing both his own funds and the net’s suggestions of the appropriate amount of credits to spend on gifts for a receptionist before it can be taken the wrong way. It would be good to put the tac-net to work on something other than devising a way to improve his efficiency by nanoklicks.

 

A flurry of wings and limbs out of the corner of his optics made Prowl’s sparkpulse spike. There was only one mech that could cause that level of pandemonium from his subordinates.

 

Prowl stared out of his office's clear walls as short, lovely Jazz sauntered through the bullpen, smiling and inaudibly greeting the bots as he passed them by. Prowl had often heard of Seekers and nobles being described as effortlessly beautiful, ensnaring hapless bots with a single glance. Personally, he had though such descriptors were superfluous at best and base flattery at worst. The idea that there could any sort of bot that could steal sparks with the flick of a servo was laughable. But as he stared at Jazz laughing at a blushing Slicker, he caught a glimpse into the yawning void of his own obsession. With a swing of a thick hip and a flash of sharp fang, Jazz had thoroughly buried his claws into Prowl's spark once again.  
  
Worst of all, Jazz had no idea what he did to Prowl, that every move he made caused Prowl to _burn_ . All of their interactions, few as they were, pointed to a professional, if friendly, relationship. But every smile, every laugh, every purr Jazz made was replicated with the other bots he interacted with, including his own underlings. They all melted at the easy grin, falling all over themselves to beg a moment for his attention. Something nasty curled in Prowl's chest at the sight. It snarled at the sycophantic peons fawning over someone that fundamentally belonged _'to Prowl'_ .  
  
Prowl froze at the dark thought. His tac-net involuntarily pulled up an old file of his first arrest as detective, listening to a wide-opticked femme protest his charge of stalking and assault. She had pleaded that her actions were completely justified, that the poor bot that she had harassed was simply too beautiful to leave alone in the big bad city of Praxus. She had sounded earnest even as she wiped luminescent energon onto her thigh struts, a grisly reminder that she had bashed a mech’s helm onto the curb for “preying on her beloved”. Her “beloved” ended up spending two decacycles at xir true lover’s side, waiting for the poor mech to wake up which he thankfully did. Prowl had never understood her motives. Now… Now he was beginning to see what drove bots to such lengths.

 

Closing his optics, Prowl took another deep in-vent. There was no need to become so agitated. Jazz was just an ordinary foreign frame who came to Praxus to explore. He was a very, very pretty mech, but just a normal bot. Prowl could absolutely control himself. He had to. His position demanded it! Yes, as the Head Tactical Major of the Praxian Enforcers, Prowl could surely show control and decorum when facing some random mech. Right?

 

“Can Ah come in?” Jazz chirped, poking his helm through the door. Prowl’s spark immediately raced out of control.

 

_‘Well, frag.’_

 

“Of course. Please, take a seat.”

 

Jazz’s smile grew wider, much to the despair of Prowl’s failing logic centers, and he practically waltzed towards his slightly dusty visitor’s chair, chattering all the while.

 

“Ah don’ mean ta interrupt ya, but Ah figured Ah owed ya somethin’ fo’ helping meh out last cycle. Praxus is a bit different from what Ah’m used ta, but it’s sucha pretty city! Ah had breakfast at de Bubble ‘n’ Flake an’ it’s pretty good. De flavors ‘re new an’ Ah’ve never tasted such bitter treats or energon dat tingled an’ fizzed on mah glossa befo’ but Ah liked it. Ain’t mah new fave flavors but Ah won’t starve or spend mah shanix on ‘xpensive energon, dat’s fo’ sho’.”

 

Prowl stared as Jazz sank deep into the soft cushioning, a soft purr accenting his words and his pedes dangling again from the legs of the chair. He was starting to develop a complex over Jazz, wasn’t he. Brutally halting the conflicting urges to either coo at Jazz or drop his helm into his servos and curse the day he was sparked, Prowl instead settled back into his own chair and waited for a lull in Jazz’s spiel. “....an’ everythang ‘n Praxus is, well, Praxian-sized but Ah’m adjustin’ pretty good ta it.”

 

Prowl nodded sagely as if he had actually been listening instead of watching Jazz’s horns twitch and pedes swing through the entire conversation. “Well it is a pleasure to see you again, Jazz, but I am curious as to why you decided to visit me again so soon.”

 

“Ah’d said Ah wanted ta thank ya properly fo’ ya help! An’ Ah figured ya can’t go wrong wit’ free energon.” Jazz fished out an elegant gold-flecked black box and a matching disposable cuboid, setting them on the desk in front of Prowl. “Ah know most ‘Forcers back home like dey tar like engine gunk so Ah asked fo’ de strongest, tallest cube dey ‘ad with two booster shots. Wasn’t sure what tastes ya’d like, so Ah jus’ gotta sampler o’ de nicest goodies.”

 

Prowl felt touched as he reached for the offered snacks. The box revealed treats that looked more like delicate works of art than edibles. There were fluorite wafers studded with beryl, a miniature mercury mousse covered with aluminum and topped with rainbow quartz, and a crumbly magnesium and malachite scone. They looked so appetizing that Prowl could not choose one to start with! He decided to open the cube of the tar first to go with the treats. The rich smell diffused through the room and Prowl released a bass purr. Well, even if Jazz had guessed, he still had exquisite taste.

 

“Thank you for your kindness, Jazz. I had skipped my morning meal and this is very much appreciated.” Jazz’s face turned scandalized and Prowl quickly realized that he may have, without thinking, yet again stepped on a conversational landmine of epic proportions.

 

“Ya gotta keep ya fuel levels up, ya know. Wouldn’t do ya no good if ya pass out on shift.” The surprisingly measured words and completely stiff horns clued Prowl into the fact that he had only missed a massive lecture due to the conventions of polite society. Prowl nodded quickly and took a hasty, and absolutely blissful, bite of wafer, which thankfully relaxed Jazz’s features. He washed down the crispy snack with a mouthful of delightful hot tar that was equal parts sludgy and smoky (but blessedly not burnt!).

 

“You make an excellent point. I shall make an effort to properly regulate my meals.” Jazz nodded and smiled, the odd tension finally dissipating. He leaned back into the soft chair, tucking his knee-joint under his chin in a casual display of flexibility.

 

Prowl inhaled the rest of the flourite wafer whole so he would not purr at the overwhelmingly appealing sight. Jazz looked every bit as edible as the treats he had brought. Prowl wished that Jazz could come and visit every time he was having a bad day. With nothing but a box of treats and a sweet smile, Jazz had single-handedly elevated his mood and outlook. Even his tacnet was running far more efficiently. Alas, it could not last forever. Jazz had repaid Prowl's courtesy which meant that further correspondence would be limited at best. There was little chance that such a vivacious foreign frame would be so willing to spend time with a stiff mech like himself.

 

“So, Ah may’ve ‘ad an altern’tive reason fo’ comin’ here today.” Prowl looked up through a sip of tar he had taken to wash down the wafer. Jazz was scratching behind his left horn, visor downcast and tinted blue cheeks. Well, this was a fascinating new side. He faked nonchalance.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yeah, major. Ah dun’ really know where ta start wit’ ‘xplorin’ Praxus. Ah wuz hopin’ ya hadn’t fo’gotten ya offer yesta-day.” Jazz took a deep in-vent before meeting Prowl’s gaze. “D’ya mind pointin’ meh t’wards some significant spots? Ah dun wanna take ya away from ya work ‘cause ya probably busy. 'Less ya ain’ busy 'course. But Ah’d like ta see Praxus t’rough de eyes o’ a native. Got any tips?”

 

Prowl leaned back in his chair. He had an inkling of an idea. It would seem a stodgy place for even the most scholarly of tourists, but Jazz seemed genuinely interested in Praxian culture. Prowl just hoped that Jazz would agree with his idea. “How would you feel about visiting the Great Temple?”

 

The interested prick of Jazz’s horns gave Prowl some much needed courage. “Great Temple, huh?”

 

“Indeed. Seeing how we venerate Primus and our founder Alchemist Prime would be a good introduction to the very beginning of Praxus’ history, both cultural and social. The Temple is also surrounded by several historical sites as much of ancient Praxian culture centered around our faith and founder. Would that be satisfactory?”

 

Jazz beamed. Primus, would Prowl’s spark ever stop skipping a beat at that glorious smile? “Dat sounds lovely, major. Ah’m ever so grateful fo’ ya help.”

 

Prowl nodded with the faintest smile twitching at his lips. Jazz’s smile strangely faltered for a moment before it turned determined. He seemed to take a deep breath before asking, “Wouldja come wit’ meh?”

 

Prowl rebooted his audials in shock. “I apologize, but I believe that I misheard you. Could you please repeat what you just said?”

Jazz flushed a rather enticing shade of blue. “Ah-ah asked if ya’d like ta come wit’ meh ta de Temple. Ah know dat ya mus’ be busy an’ dis probably comes at a rough time fo’ ya an’ ya probably wanna be rid o’ meh an-”

 

“I accept.”

 

“Wha’?” Jazz’s horns shot up in shock. It seems Jazz was surprisingly nervous about this request. Prowl found that... surprisingly endearing. “Ya sure ‘bout it?”

 

“I accept.” Prowl couldn’t fight the small smile that twitched at his lips at Jazz’s surprised face.

 

“Ya, ya sure? Ah dun wanna take ya away from ya duties. Ah know ya Enforcers ain’t de most free mechs an’ all.”

 

Prowl nodded and stood. Yester-cycle him would have believed that creating a three-orn buffer would have paid off like this.  “I may be a busy Enforcer but I am efficient at datawork. It would not trouble me at all to take you to the Temple.”

 

“Fantastic!” Jazz grinned bright and, after a bit of squirming to escape the plush chair, bounced to his pedes. “Lead de way, coppah bot.”

 

Prowl picked up his cuboid and walked out of his office, rearranging his schedule for the second time this deca-cycle. He felt strange. He never took time off of work except for family binary creation cycles and mandatory vacations that his superiors enforced. What was it about this maddeningly brilliant mech that made Prowl want to drop everything and satiate his curiosity? If given the time and consent, Prowl would love to pin Jazz beneath him and explore every inch of that choice frame-

 

“Ah, scuse meh, major!” Prowl was jounced from his musings to see Jazz with the Bubble and Flake box in his servoes, a rather strange expression on his face.

 

“Whaddya want ta do wit’ de rest o’ dese goodies? Ah’d hate ta t’ink dat dey’d go ta waste.”

 

Prowl was taken aback. The remaining two goodies would have kept in his office and would make an excellent snack once he had returned. He wasn’t sure why Jazz would have retrieved them again. But the look on Jazz’s face coupled with his restrained reaction when Prowl had admitted to skipping his morning meal suggested that Jazz was familiar to hunger. But that wasn’t quite right, his tac-net pinged. Jazz’s datawork detailed a mech who was lower-middle class in a dying suburb of Simfur. While the quality of energon would have been suspect, he would never have gone hungry. So, what experience would Jazz have had that made him so intimately aware of hunger, so much so that he was pushing goodies into Prowl’s servoes?

 

Well, datawork never told the whole story. It was entirely possible that Jazz had an adverse experience as a sparkling that would have been sealed from public record. Prowl was probably overthinking Jazz, as usual. Either way, he had been in his helm for far too long. He had to come up with some response.

 

“Thank you for your concern, Jazz.” He picked up the magnesium scone and saluted it at Jazz. Prowl silently sighed in relief as Jazz relaxed. “It would be remiss of me not to enjoy your offering.”

 

But what would he do with the remaining treat? It would be too much for him at this moment as the midday meal was only a few short joors away. But he doubted that Jazz would take his refusal of his gift so kindly. His tac-net pinged. Prowl brightened at the suggestion. This would indeed be a good solution to his problem.

 

* * *

 

 _‘Some mechs were just incredibly rude,’_ Runner fumed, banging away at his hub keyboard. Major Prowl was nothing short of an infuriating mech who couldn’t charm his way out of a smelting pool. Runner had tried to be patient, tried to be sensitive to his boss but he’d absolutely had it! Major Prowl’s abrasive and detached mannerisms had crossed a line! Yes, Runner knew that he had a tendency to ramble, though it wasn’t quite his fault as he had always been a talkative sort since sparklinghood which meant that a lot of bots had found him a bit too much but he was lucky that he had found his Synthesis who had actually _liked_ to listen to his tangents which is why their bond was just as strong as ever and sure his mate believed that he talked himself into his problems but Runner knew that he could talk himself out them as well but Major Prowl was one problem that he couldn’t talk his way out of!

 

Runner ex-vented roughly before taking a swig of tar (home-brewed of course, the communal pot was nothing less than burnt slag). He really had tried to like his boss. He really had. Runner believed that he was an awkward lonely mech who just needed a good friend. That was something Runner was good at. But every attempt at friendship had been thoroughly rebuffed. Prowl refused to go out for drinks, didn’t attend department team-building exercises, never came to office parties; he didn’t even take time off like a normal mech. While he may have remembered binary creation days and other celebratory facts about his subordinates, that didn’t stop him from being one of the most taciturn, abrasive, and downright infuriating mechs Runner had ever had the displeasure of meeting.

 

The elevators dinged, signalling an exiting visitor. Runner rubbed his temples before returning to his hub. He really would have to reconsider whether or not he would stay at this position. The pay was fair but Runner didn’t know how much more he could take of the Frozen Major. He hoped Jazz had a marginally better experience with Major Prowl than he had. He doubted it though. And it was such a shame, because Jazz was such a friendly mech. He had waltzed into the building with a stunning smile on his face and arms laden with goodies. Runner couldn’t help but find himself charmed by the strange accent and the genuine interest in his well-being. It would be an incredible shame to see such a sweet mech discouraged by Major Prowl’s prickly attitude.

 

“Wow, Ah nevah woulda guessed dat yer a pursuit model! But it kinda makes sense considering dat ya engine’s way too strong ta be a hubrat.” Hubrat? What was a hubrat? Anyways, it seemed that Jazz had finished his business with the Major and was conversing with another officer on Prowl’s team. Poor mech. Runner thanked Primus with another swig of his tar that he didn’t sound too dejected or beat up.

 

“In...deed. It is unusual for models such as myself to be behind desks; but after a department shakeup, it was determined that I was the best officer for the job, pursuit model or not.” Runner spewed his mouthful onto his hub. _What?_ He craned his neck over his stupidly large desk to see _Major Prowl_ escorting Jazz and furthermore, _they were heading his way_.

 

Runner scrambled to grab a rag. Cursing under his breath, he snagged the solvent that he mercifully stowed under his desk in case of emergency. He frantically scrubbed the tar off of his hub with a few splashes of solvent, why the frag was it so _sticky_ , before throwing the bottle and rag back under his desk. Runner returned his digits to his still sticky keyboard just as Major Prowl called out, “Runner.”

 

From the usual stern look on his face, Runner internally sobbed with relief that Major Prowl hadn’t noticed his spit take. One of Primus’s little miracles. “Yes, Major?”

 

“I have canceled my meetings today in order to escort Ser Jazz to the Great Temple.” _WHAT?_ “I have already informed the necessary parties but please alert any others of my absence.”

 

“O-of course, Major.” _‘What the actual frag was happening?’_ Runner mentally screamed.

 

“Good. One more thing.” Prowl set his cuboid on the top of Runner’s desk and accepted something from Jazz with a _grateful smile?!_

 

 _‘Synthesis would not believe the day that I’m having,’_ Runner thought moments before his processor shutdown. There before his optics sat a delicate mercury mousse covered in a thin layer of aluminum and topped with rainbow quartz, a dessert that he had ogled many times as he passed Bubble and Flake. Was this even reality? Or had he deactivated from sheer shock?

 

“This is for you, Runner. I apologize for snapping at you earlier.” A strange glint appeared in Major Prowl’s expression. Was that… _guilt_? “I will endeavor to be more polite in the future.”

 

Goodies _and_ an apology? All right, it was official. Now Runner knew he was in the Well. Alchemist knows he deserved it. Thankfully for his job. his mouth never needed his processor to function.

 

“T-thank you, sir. I accept your apology.” Major Prowl nodded curtly before turning back to Jazz. “Shall we?”

 

“After ya, coppah bot,” _Coppah bot?!_ Jazz waved to Runner. “‘Ave a good cycle!”

 

And then they were gone.

 

Runner slumped in his chair and buried his helm into his servoes. He didn’t quite know what the frag just happened but he did know that this was all too much for his poor spark. He had never seen Major Prowl look like, well, _that_. Pleasant and somewhat relaxed. This Jazz had brought something out of the major that Runner still wasn’t quite processing. Frag, he needed some high-grade. Settling for draining the last of his tar, Runner glared at the deliciously innocuous mousse sitting on his desk. He wanted so badly to remain upset at his boss. He wanted to throw that dessert at that stupid face and storm back home. But he couldn’t get the guilt on Major Prowl’s face out of his processor. Runner had always believed Prowl to be abrasively cold, but the awkward apology suggested that Prowl’s social awkwardness reached depths that Runner couldn’t even begin to understand. Had he really misunderstood his boss so badly?

 

Runner bit his lip before reaching for the mousse. Maybe he needed to rethink his approach to Major Prowl.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, tell me what you think in the comments! I am so grateful for each and every one of you who shows their support below. Again, thanks for reading and for your patience.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! My plan is to update every one or two weeks so if I miss a deadline, please let me know in the comments. I look forwards to your reviews!
> 
> EDIT: Quick break down of time as compared to human time
> 
> Miniklick (slang klicker) ~ 30.4 seconds
> 
> Klick ~ 5.78 minutes
> 
> Joor ~ 3.92 hours
> 
> Cycle ~ 6.3 days
> 
> Orn ~ 15.76 days
> 
> Decaorn ~ 46.27 days
> 
> Vorn ~ 83 years
> 
> Decavorn ~ 830 years
> 
> Centivorn ~ 8300 years


End file.
